


An Attempt to Tip the Scales

by ritsukken



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, ah the tragic lives of sword swinging lesbians, also teeny tiny swear word and brief reference to suicide, that actually works for utena as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsukken/pseuds/ritsukken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her fingers are rough and calloused, not the soft, innocent hands of a lady, the hands she should have, and Ymir grieves for the work they have had to endure already, the acts they have had to commit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Attempt to Tip the Scales

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a Bright Eyes song of the same name, though it didn't influence the fic. Also readable on tumblr [here](http://ritsukken.tumblr.com/post/86214024453/an-attempt-to-tip-the-scales)

“Ow, that stings.”

Ymir raises an eyebrow at Krista and continues dabbing at the gash along Krista's right arm.

“I am  _trying_  to be careful y'know.”

Krista touches Ymir's cheek. Her fingers are rough and calloused, not the soft, innocent hands of a lady, the hands she should have, and Ymir grieves for the work they have had to endure already, the acts they have had to commit. They are still only children.

Krista smiles. “You're always gentle,” but her words are spoiled by her wince and sharp intake of breath as Ymir applies more vinegar to the wound.

“You should watch where you're going next time,” Ymir scolds lightly. “It's not deep, but I'm gonna keep an eye on it anyway.” She gets up, raising her hands above her head to stretch. “I mean really, a tree branch.”

Krista laughs. Ymir wonders if there is something she should compare it to, like thousands of tiny crystal bells chiming, or a chorus of birds at the break of a pink and orange dawn, but that doesn't seem to do it justice and those kind of metaphors are overused anyway. “A  _tree_ , what an awful way to go. When it happens I hope it's while saving an entire squad single handed, or taking down a fifteen met-” The bells shatter, and Ymir knows what she is thinking is plastered all across her face. Krista sees it too and her face falls.

“Krista, this needs to sto-”

“I know what you're going to say. We are not having this conversation again.” Krista turns swiftly and stalks away.

“This isn't your fucking personal suicide run!” Ymir shouts after her, but Krista's figure slowly dwindles to nothing in the distance.

***

Ymir finds Krista an hour later sitting beneath an apple tree, and Krista's long fingers are digging into her palms like she wants them to break through the other side, stark white gravestones carving their way through her hands. Her hands are already a cemetery, overcrowded with the lives they could not save, the lives they have yet to take, to fail, and Ymir loathes the idea of Krista bearing the burden of more. Krista doesn't deserve so much pain. Krista is beautiful, wonderful, she always has the right words, the kind, soft, and loving words, but it seems that for this moment Krista does not have the right words, and Ymir is plain, blunt and boisterous, and she never had the right words anyway. Ymir wonders at how they fit when they're so utterly different.

Krista reaches for a fresh apple on the ground and holds it outstretched in her palms, staring at its shined surface, and seeing the distant look on her face Ymir wishes more than anything that the apple could be green. Anything but more red. Anything but more death, ever-mounting, unavoidable. She sees it everyday. The limbs littering the trails behind them, the dark spatters on the ground remnants of a battle that couldn't be won, her face in the mirror, hollow empty eyes and skin the colour of dry, dead grass. One day she will look at Krista and see death as well.

 

Krista lifts the apple to her mouth and bites down with a crunch of breaking bones, and juice bleeds out, trickling down her chin.

 

“Hey,” Ymir carefully wipes the trail away. '”Be a shame to get that face dirty.”

Krista looks up at her with wide blue eyes, and Eren might talk about the skies far beyond the Walls, but Ymir doubts there are any as blue or beautiful as Krista's eyes are right now.

“Krista. I need you to make me a promise.” Krista's head tilts to the side in question, her hair a golden curtain. Gold is precious and scarce since the building of the Walls, and Ymir thinks about the delicate chains the merchants sell once in a blue moon, made of metal as weapons are, but weak, soft. Easy to bite and mark. Easy to damage. Easy to break entirely and watch the small pearls it once held scatter away, lost forever and soon forgotten.

She doesn't want to forget.

“Swear you won't die without me.”

Krista looks away, closes those bright eyes. “You know I can't do that.” She's determined, stubborn, and maybe gold is stronger than Ymir thought. Or maybe gold was a stupid comparison in the first place, Krista has always been more like steel, shining, unyielding. A perfect weapon. “And I wouldn't make you promise to do that either.' She turns back, eyes brighter than ever. 'I can try though. Just. Promise me you'll do the same.”

Ymir closes her eyes and opens them slowly, and her murmur of “I promise,” is carried away by the light breeze that flutters the leaves overhead. Krista is lying, but Ymir is too, because the last thing Ymir wants to see is Krista's face in that moment, when Ymir is too broken and then too still to do anything about it. She cradles Krista's face with one hand, and runs a thumb along her cheekbone.

No one has ever called Ymir gentle.

No one except Krista.

“I promise.”

Ymir leans forward and the half-eaten, browning fruit falls to the floor, forgotten, as her mouth brushes against Krista's. The taste of apple lingers on her lips and as the kiss deepens, Ymir doesn't think she has ever tasted anything as bitter-sweet.

 

 


End file.
